


Watching

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Touch yourself. I'm not going to.'" Giriko and Justin take turns watching each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blushing

It starts out as making out on the couch, which is relatively ordinary for them at this point. Justin never cares enough about what Giriko’s watching on TV to actually  _watch_  it, which means that the priest joining the older man on the sofa is as clear as him begging on his knees for attention. If Giriko keeps ignoring him, sometimes he can get the blond to be  _really_  overt, but today the chainsaw doesn’t feel particularly like playing any sort of drawn-out game, so he looks sideways at Justin and grins before reaching to grab the remote and turn the television off.

“Bored?” Giriko asks as he turns back towards Justin. The blond isn’t quite looking at him and he’s got his arms crossed over his chest, but a smile is threatening to break free of his lips and when he speaks his voice is shaky with suppressed laughter.

“I don’t know why you would think that.”

“Yeah, it seems pretty crazy to me too.” Giriko reaches out to trail his fingers over the back of Justin’s neck and the blond tips his head forward and whimpers in satisfaction at the touch. He’s  _much_  less restrained than usual, even given his unusual initial approach. “You coming out looking for me instead of the other way around?” He leans sideways without totally turning so he can exhale hot over Justin’s neck. The blond shivers and smiles but doesn’t speak. “Totally normal, happens all the time.”

He lets his touch against Justin’s skin go so he can grab the blond by his far hip and pull him forcibly in, but Justin is turning in towards him and reaching out for contact so it doesn’t take much force at all. It reminds Giriko of the first times with the priest, the way Justin went liquid with heat under his touch, and when Justin’s mouth lands against his collarbone and the blond sighs in satisfaction it’s as bad as deja vu.

With Justin perfectly obedient it’s easy to tip him over backwards onto the couch cushions, and when Giriko drops down over the priest Justin purrs and arches up into contact with the chainsaw. Giriko is grinning, on the verge of laughter even through his rising arousal, and when he slides a hand up under Justin’s shirt the priest gasps and chokes a laugh of response.

“What the hell were you thinking about?” Giriko asks against Justin’s neck, punctuating his sentences with the drag of teeth in a threat and a promise over the thin skin. “To get so desperate that you came looking for me?”

“Maybe I was just bored,” Justin offers, but when Giriko slides the hand against his chest down to the front of his pants he bucks up into the touch and he’s so hard Giriko can feel the outline of his cock clear in spite of the obstruction.

“Yeah, sure,” Giriko laughs, and presses harder down so Justin just whimpers and doesn’t bother to form a coherent response. “Just bored and ridiculously horny.” He licks against the line of Justin’s neck and the blond sighs against his ear. “What would you do without me?”

He means it rhetorically, but Justin goes still and blushes so hard Giriko can feel the heat rising from his face even before he pulls back to see the way the blond isn’t meeting his gaze.

“Fuck,” he laughs, “You are such a  _child_  honestly.” He leans in to lick across Justin’s cheekbone. “You’re getting as flustered about jacking off when I’ve fucked you I don’t know how many times? Seriously?”

“It’s  _different_ ,” Justin mumbles, bringing a hand up to half-cover his face and effectively preventing Giriko from continuing to taste his skin. “It’s not the  _same_  when…”

“When it’s just you?” Giriko bites at Justin’s ear and the blond hisses and arches up against him. “When no one’s getting anything out of it but yourself?” He digs his hand into the hardened flesh under his palm and Justin wiggles and groans. “I don’t see how that’s any different than me blowing you. Besides, you were halfway there the first time I fucked you, remember?”

Justin whines in embarrassment. “Don’t remind me, I was...ng.” His words scatter into a moan and a shift of his body and Giriko bites his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t be stupid, Justin.” A thought occurs to him. “Wait. Did you jerk off to me before we...?”

Justin doesn’t speak or move, and the quiet is as much a response as Giriko could hope for. He smiles into Justin’s shoulder, grinds his hips down against the priest’s thigh and curls his fingers around the tension in Justin’s jeans. “Didja think about me?” He breathes out hard, presses down with his palm again. “Did you  _fantasize_  about me touching you, about me  _fucking_  you? Did you think about how I’d taste against your mouth and how my weight would feel pressing you down into the bed?”

Justin is gasping under him, arching up into his touch. The hand that was covering the blond’s face is tight against Giriko’s arm like Justin is clinging to the chainsaw for his life, desperate and anxious, and it’s hard to pull away. Giriko nearly doesn’t go after all, but when he moves Justin curves up in a panic of want, and it’s ironically the sight of the blond angling up for him that lets Giriko pull back.

“ _Giriko_ ,” Justin pleads, and Giriko jerks his head towards the blond’s jeans and moves backwards out of easy range of Justin’s skin and mouth.

“Touch yourself,” he orders, and Justin goes still for a minute, blinking at him wide-eyed and feverish with want. “I’m not going to, I want to watch you jerk yourself off.” Justin whines and Giriko crosses his arms in front of himself so he can grip his opposite elbows and keep himself from giving in to the plea in Justin’s eyes and voice.

For a moment they are both perfectly still. Giriko tips his chin down and keeps his hands fixed in place; Justin is up on one elbow, free hand extended towards the chainsaw and mouth half-open as if he has lost track of his own body. Then Justin blinks, and hisses in a burst of frustration, and flings himself back on the couch so he can bring both hands to fumble desperately at the front of his jeans. Giriko’s eyebrows go up but Justin’s not looking at him anymore; Giriko’s not sure Justin even knows he’s  _there_  in the moment. The blond gets his pants open and peels them off, wiggling to slide them free of his hips and down his legs. The motion isn’t deliberately sensual or slowly provocative, just fast and desperate; the fabric catches on Justin’s knee and tangles around his foot, and the priest doesn’t even bother to fully kick the fabric free before he drops back flat and wraps his fingers around himself.

Justin moan immediately, gasping for air until he sounds like he’s choking, sounds more like he’s hurting himself than enjoying the sensation. His free hand is digging into his thigh, he’s rocking up against his own hand and shifting his fingers over himself until Giriko isn’t sure  _what_  exactly he’s doing. The chainsaw can see his stomach, shoulders, legs go tense before Justin relaxes for a breath and arches up against his own touch again.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Giriko manages. His fingers are digging crescents from his nails into his skin and he is so hard it’s pulling at the waistband of his jeans but he doesn’t even think of looking away from Justin moaning on the couch. “What the  _fuck_  are you thinking of?”

“ _You_ ,” Justin groans in instant response without any time to run the words through a filter, and Giriko flinches like the words are a physical blow knocking all the blood in his body into his dick. “ _God_  Giriko I -- I’m thinking about you f -- fucking me.” His hand scrapes down his chest, under his shirt, and what Giriko can see has a trail of red lines from the blond’s nails tearing sensation over his skin. His hand around his cock is moving irregularly; Giriko can see the tension tight over his skin, pulling bones and tendons into sharp relief under the thin skin, but he keeps moving slow then fast, then torturously slow again, then speeding until he curves up and around his own hand like he’s trying to alleviate an excess of sensation. Justin’s eyes are shut tight, like he’s entirely fixated on some image behind his eyelids on the screen of his mental theatre, and his mouth is open so he can pant for breath between moans and whimpering in response to his own touch.

Giriko is not used to seeing something he  _wants_  and not  _taking_  it. Even when Justin is teasing him, when he  _knows_  the blond is teasing him, he can’t keep his hands off the priest, even when he knows that will just draw the game out longer. But this isn’t a game, Justin’s not baiting him; he doesn’t know how he knows it, maybe it’s something in the tense line of focus in the blond’s forehead or the way he is rocking up into his own touch without waiting for Giriko to step in. Giriko is hard and  _wanting_ , his hands are shaking with the desire to  _touch_  and  _feel_  that shudder of pleasure through Justin’s body and the way his breath is skidding past his lips and the desperate tension winding through his muscles, and he doesn’t know  _why_  he’s not except that it’s somehow  _better_  to watch Justin come to pieces just from  _thinking_  about him, better to wonder how many times this has happened that he didn’t see, better to watch and remember rather than touch and feel and lose his focus in physicality.

Justin stops breathing when he gets close. He stops inhaling and stops moaning, goes silent and tense until he’s arching up off the couch entirely and there’s just the almost-panicked movement of his hand fast over his cock. He comes a moment before the tension snaps, drops back to the cushions with a groan low in his throat as come spurts across his fingers and the fabric of his shirt. Giriko grunts in time with Justin, the tight-wound focus of expectation breaking so he can take a deep breath, can look at the way Justin’s mouth has gone soft with pleasure and the hazed satisfaction in the priest’s blue eyes when he blinks them open.

Justin looks at Giriko, and smiles even as he starts to flush red under whatever look the chainsaw is giving him, and that’s all Giriko has time to take in before his unusual control gives way and he comes forward to crush Justin between the couch and his body. The priest’s hand ends up pinned against Giriko’s stomach, his feet tangled atop each other and half-under the chainsaw’s, but Giriko can’t  _wait_  he is suddenly as impatient as he has ever been, dropping most of his weight onto Justin’s chest so he can reach for the front of his own jeans.

“ _Fuck_  that was fucking hot as  _hell_ ,” he gasps, and Justin laughs high and breathy and drags his hand free to slide up under the chainsaw’s shirt. His fingers are sticky with his own come and that just makes it  _worse_  until Giriko whines in desperation against Justin’s shoulder and bites as the only way to express his frustration. Justin hisses in reaction but arches into it, and then Giriko gets his pants open and is angling his hand past the elastic of his boxers to wrap his fingers around himself.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says again, and as he tries to balance his weight Justin comes up on his elbow and Giriko topples right off the edge of the couch, lands on his back on the floor and doesn’t even try to get back up. Justin is giggling, laughing and turning to look over the edge, and when he sees that Giriko shows no signs of returning he slides off too, lands straddling Giriko’s thighs and reaches to pull the chainsaw’s boxers farther down and wrap his sticky fingers around the chainsaw’s cock next to Giriko’s own. Justin doesn’t know exactly what Giriko likes as the chainsaw knows himself, but between them there’s a fantastic blur of movement and two competing rhythms and Giriko just needs sensation, it doesn’t matter  _what_  at this point. Giriko pushes up on his free hand, and this close his wrist is hitting his stomach and Justin’s fingers are brushing the cloth of his shirt, and he can rest his forehead on the blond’s shoulder and breathe out hard against the priest’s shirt, and when he breathes in it’s all Justin.

“ _You_ ,” he says, and it sounds like a curse on his tongue. “I  _want_  you,” and Justin laughs and shifts his hips, grinds against Giriko’s legs, and just the  _thought_  of being inside the priest is enough for Giriko to choke on a breath and come hard over the overlapping of his and Justin’s fingers.

“God,” Giriko gasps as the last aftershocks pulse through him. “Fucking hell that was  _awesome_.”

Justin laughs, still breathy, and when Giriko looks up the blond is flushed pink all over his face but he’s smiling, and the chainsaw takes that as agreement in the moment before he leans forward to kiss the shape of Justin’s mouth.


	2. Silent

Justin brings it up the next time they’re in bed, one of the rare occasions when they start on the comfort of the mattress instead of having to migrate there or making do with the couch, or the table, or the wall instead. Justin’s got his legs around Giriko’s hips and his mouth against Giriko’s neck, and the chainsaw is bucking up against the tight-stretched jeans over the blond’s thighs, and when the priest lifts his head and says “Giriko” the older man almost doesn’t wait to hear what he has to say.

“ _What_ ,” is what he does say, instead, letting his frustration at being interrupted bleed into the word.

“I want to watch you,” Justin says, and Giriko almost bites him before he realizes what the blond’s talking about.

“Wait,” he says instead, sitting up from the mattress so he shoves Justin back off his chestand the priest’s weight digs down against his cock. “Like, _watch_ me?”

“Like you watched me,” Justin says, and he’s blushing hard. Giriko can see the pink rising up past the collar of his shirt to sweep over his jawline and up across his cheeks. “It’s only fair. Don’t you think?”

“Mm.” Giriko hums noncommittally, sets his fingers against the priest’s waist so he can pull Justin down while he rocks up and get a whimper of want from the blond’s throat. It’s not a bad idea, and it is only fair, but jerking off himself is usually quick and dirty, and it’s a lot more fun to fuck Justin’s hand or mouth or ass.

Then he looks up, and Justin’s blushing red now instead of faintly pink, and his eyes are wide and wanting and his mouth is open so Giriko can see the flutter of air over his lower lip, and the shadowed _want_ in those blue eyes suddenly seems a lot more promising even than the alternative.

“Yeah,” he says, and “Seems fair enough.” He shoves one-handed to topple Justin sideways onto the mattress beside him and reaches for the fly of his own jeans. “But you gotta wait yourself,” he orders, speaking as fast as he is thinking. “I want to be the one to make you come, you can’t get yourself off while watching me, okay?”

Justin is coming up off the mattress to sit upright and reaching out one-handed to help the chainsaw get his jeans open and down. “Okay,” he breathes, eyes fixed on the front of Giriko’s pants rather than his face, and the chainsaw laughs and rocks up into the pressure of both their hands. His fly is mostly down anyway, it’s only a quick pull at the zipper to allow the fabric to part, and Justin’s fingers come up to the waistband and pull, not desperate so much as inexorable, and Giriko puts up no fight at all to this particular attempt by the blond. He arches up and Justin pulls, and his pants come down and he kicks them free so his legs are unfettered on the bed.

Justin is grinning, leaning down to lick against the metal of Giriko’s earrings, and the chainsaw tips his head and smiles as he drags his fingers over the hard shape of his cock, feeling out a pattern before he actually commits to it. Justin’s all pressed up against his arm so he can feel the priest’s erection digging into his hip, and the blond’s breathing hard already when they haven’t even properly _done_ anything yet. Justin’s humming against his ear and reaching down to combine the touch of his fingers with Giriko’s, and Giriko’s blood is heating under his skin and he’s starting to think Justin might get him off in spite of his request.

Then Justin lets the chainsaw’s ear go, and his hand comes up to brace against the other man’s stomach so he can push himself away. Giriko grunts involuntarily from the pressure and growls as Justin pulls away, all sign of contact from the blond vanishing as his fingers pull away from skin.

“Hey,” he says, coming to half-sit up on the mattress. “Ain’t you gonna touch me at all?”

Justin’s shaking his head, grinning and tracing the tendons in his neck with his fingers. Giriko thinks the second is unconscious but the smile is bright and sparkling with amusement, and he almost hisses and lunges to pin Justin to the bed and to hell with their agreement. But Justin’s _not_ touching his cock, as promised, and his fingers are dragging across the exposed skin above his shirt collar and below the short sleeves like he can’t stand to have Giriko’s hands not on him, and the idea of watching Justin watch him is intriguing enough that the chainsaw just bares his teeth in irritation before dropping back flat to the bed.

He shuts his eyes, just to be contrary, and lets his mind skim through different mental images while he returns to feeling out a steady pattern of fingers against his skin, slowly working up to a grip proper instead of just the feather-light flutter of fingertips. He’s not looking at Justin proper but the blond is behind his lids as well, offering up memory in place of whole-cloth fantasy, and when Giriko recalls the arch of the other’s spine on the couch last time and the movement of the priest’s narrow fingers over his own length he can feel his brain shift into gear and purrs as the situation settles into his skin. When he closes his fingers around himself it’s an echo of his memory; he’s half-thinking of Justin’s hand in place of his own although the rhythm he sets is even and slow instead of frantic and irregular. His hand has the advantage of familiarity, at least; he doesn’t have to explain or buck up for more sensation, his hand responds to the flicker of frustrated tension as fast as he feels it, without his brain even needing to process the specifics of what he’s feeling.

He’s breathing deep and slow with focus when he remembers that Justin’s there, realizes he hasn’t heard the priest speak or move or breathe in several minutes, and thinks to open his eyes and tip his head to make sure the damn kid is still _there_.

He is. Justin’s got one knee up in front of him, arm hooked around it and mouth pressed up against the denim so Giriko can’t see what his lips are doing. But his free hand is stroking absently against the back of his neck and his eyebrows are raised over eyes dilated so dark Giriko can barely make out the pale blue color they usually have. Giriko pulls his hand a little harder experimentally, drags his thumb up over the head of his cock, and Justin flinches as if the chainsaw is touching him and those fingers in his hair go to a sudden fist.

“You are _enjoying_ this,” Giriko observes, words barely interrupted at all, and returns to his original rhythm with an uncontrollable smirk curving over his lips. “You pretending that’s my hand in your hair?” He drags his own free hand down over his thigh, arches up into his own touch with more show than is at all necessary, and he can see Justin’s breath hitch in his shoulders even though he can’t see the blond’s mouth. “Or that this is your hand?” He brings his fingers around to trail over his balls and Justin whimpers, very faintly, and still doesn’t look at his face.

“I’m thinking about you,” Giriko volunteers, still relatively calm in his speech although his rhythm is picking up speed without him really thinking about it, his brain offering brief flashes of Justin smiling, gasping, _wanting_ overlaid over the darkness in the priest’s eyes at the moment. “Jerking yourself off while I watched.” Justin actually shuts his eyes at that, face creasing into almost-pain while Giriko keeps talking. “Your damn hands on your own cock while you thought about me, while you watched me watching you, and you were so fucking self-conscious and you still didn’t _stop_ , just blushed and _jerked_ under your own touch, _fuck_.” His hand is moving faster now, thumb shifting in a regular counterpoint to the drag of his other fingers. “I wanted to just shove your legs apart and fuck you into the couch while you kept getting yourself off, _god_ I want to do that _now_ , do you know what you _look_ like?” Giriko’s hips come up off the mattress instinctively. “Open your damn eyes, _Justin_ ,” and he does, although the intense focus in his forehead doesn’t fade off and Giriko still can’t see his mouth. “God you’re so fucking hot when you’re coming apart. I’m not even _touching_ you and you -- you’re --” His voice is cracking, finally, attention starting to grind away into pleasure. “You’re closer than I am aren’t you, _fuck_ I want to be in your mouth, are you fucking _biting_ your jeans?” Giriko shuts his eyes to breathe for a moment, focuses on the movement of his hand instead of the blank attention in Justin’s eyes, and it’s not until he can feel his muscles thrumming with the promise of tension that he opens his eyes and looks back over at Justin. The priest is still watching Giriko’s hand like his life depends on it, his fingers are still wrapped tight in his hair, and he’s rocking very slightly back and forth. Giriko thinks the motion might be in time with the movement of his own hand against his length.

“Christ,” he half-laughs. “You’re so,” and he thinks he’s going to say _ridiculous_ but his orgasm hits him mid-sentence, tension snapping into convulsive ripples of satisfaction, and what he ends up gasping is, “ _Amazing_.”

Justin doesn’t move as Giriko drops back to the mattress, catches his breath, uncurls his fingers from himself. The chainsaw wipes his hand on his shirt while he refocuses his eyes on the priest, and it’s not until he grins and gestures with his other hand, says, “Come _here_ ,” that Justin does, unwinding the tension of his position and reaching for Giriko with eyes desperate and trembling lips -- there’s a damp pattern on his knee, he _was_ biting it -- so he looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

Giriko is out of words, like his orgasm swept them away along with his needy want, so he just reaches, closes his fingers on Justin’s shoulder and presses his palm into the front of the priest’s jeans. Justin doesn’t talk either, doesn’t fight or protest or even pause to work himself free of the fabric. His fingers close around Giriko’s wrist to hold the hand against his pants steady, and his forehead comes in against the chainsaw’s shoulder, and this close Giriko can finally hear him breathing, panting and out of rhythm.

Giriko doesn’t even have to _do_ anything. He just offers steady resistance and Justin grinds himself against the press of his palm, bucks up into the chainsaw’s touch through his boxers and the thicker fabric of his jeans, and after a moment of stuttered breathing Giriko hears Justin’s inhale stall entirely. The fingers against his wrist spasm tight and Justin jerks and comes against the pressure of Giriko’s palm and the denim of his jeans.

He starts breathing again a minute later, louder and panting in relief, and Giriko laughs into the soft curl of blond hair. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, as he intends this time, and Justin chokes a breathy chuckle into his shoulder as well.

“I thought I was amazing.” He tips his head and kisses gentle against Giriko’s neck, and the chainsaw doesn’t have the will to protest the priest’s words.

“Yeah.” He shuts his eyes and brings his hand to pull at Justin’s back to curve the blond against him. “Yeah, you are.”


End file.
